


Where the Wild Things Hid

by I_am_lampy



Series: After All These Years [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sherlock Loves Bossy John, Smut, bossy John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 13:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10514352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: John gets tired of Sherlock running off every time Rosie cries during the night and puts his foot down. A little blackmail is involved. Smut ensues and is NOT interrupted by a toddler.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PatPrecieux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/gifts).



Rosie Watson was driving her father insane and Sherlock was helping her do it.

"No," John said one night when Sherlock showed up again with Rosie asleep on his shoulder. "No, Sherlock, she is not getting in this bed. If you want to sleep with her then the two of you can go sleep on the couch."

"John! This is – "

"No," John said and pointed at the door.

Sherlock huffed and started to climb over John but John made himself spread-eagle on the bed so that Sherlock couldn't crawl up on the bed without crawling over John.

"No," John said again.

"You're being completely unreasonable!" Sherlock hissed.

"No."

"It's the only way she'll sleep!" Sherlock whispered and John could detect the note of desperation in his voice.

"If you wouldn't run down there every time she calls out for you, then she _would_ sleep on her own. But she doesn't need to sleep on her own, does she, because you run down there the minute she makes a peep! No. I am putting my foot down. She is not allowed in this bed anymore. You can either sleep with me or her but not both of us."

Sherlock slammed (quietly) out of the room in as dramatic a fashion as he could with a sleeping toddler on his shoulder.

John grinned to himself, plumped his pillow and went to sleep.

* * *

 

The next day John had a shift at the surgery. It was Sherlock's day to take care of Rosie.

When John and Rosie had lived alone, he had tried to minimize his shifts so that he could spend more time with Rosie and she wouldn't have to go off to daycare too often. Now that they lived with Sherlock, John had a much more flexible schedule. He and Sherlock had agreed that three days a week, Rosie would go to nursery while John was at the surgery and the other day she would stay with Sherlock. Today was a Sherlock day.

He went down to take a shower. The flat was very quiet, which meant that Sherlock and Rosie were still sleeping. He got out of the shower and got dressed and then went into the kitchen to make tea. He peeked into the sitting room but it was empty. While the kettle boiled, he walked down the short hall to Rosie's darkened room and looked in.

Sherlock was asleep on the floor in a nest of blankets, one arm thrown over his head and the other flung out to the side. Rosie was sleeping upside down next to him, one leg hooked over his outstretched arm, and the other over his chest so that her foot was on his chin. Both her arms were laying perpendicular to her body.

They looked adorable. Also, John had to admit that Sherlock looked very sexy sprawled on the floor like that even with a tiny foot in his face.

John went and fetched his mobile and snapped a picture of the two of them. Then he sent it to Sherlock's mobile along with a text that said:

**You two look adorable! <3 <3 Your mother would LOVE a picture like this!**

And then he sent another, more ominous text:

**I bet Mycroft would like a copy, too.**

Sherlock was going to be furious.

* * *

 

When John got home, Rosie rushed to meet him and he picked her up and kissed her and listened to her talk about her day with Sherlock. Sherlock was sitting in his chair and when John enquired about his day, Sherlock only grunted.

"I take it you got the photo?" John asked and was rewarded with a sullen glare.

"Not speaking to me then, I'm guessing?" John asked and wasn't even given a glare, sullen or otherwise, in acknowledgement.

John was not overly concerned with Sherlock's mood. He had expected something like it. He went ahead with the rest of his day as he normally would and after Rosie was fed, John gave her a bath and got her ready for bed.

It had become their routine for John and Sherlock to put Rosie to bed together. If one or the other tried to do it alone, she always called out for whoever wasn't there.

With Rosie on his hip he walked into the sitting room and said, "It's Rosie's bedtime."

Sherlock got up stiffly, still not speaking to John, and they went into Rosie's room (John still needed Sherlock to undo the gate for him) and John read her a book and they kissed her goodnight.

John started to leave but noticed that Sherlock was still sitting on the floor by her bed. He started to say something but decided to leave them be.

He was having a cup of tea and transcribing some patient files when Sherlock came into the sitting room.

"I made sure she was asleep before I left," Sherlock said and John smiled and nodded his head.

Sherlock was already dressed for bed in a t-shirt and pajama pants. John was still getting used to this version of Sherlock. He was so used to seeing Sherlock done up in a suit. Even if he took his jacket off, there was still something so formal about Sherlock. Seeing him slouching around in rumpled t-shirt and cotton pajama bottoms was incredibly sexy. It made John want to…well. That was it. John _wanted_.

He _wanted_ to slip his hands inside Sherlock's t-shirt and slide his palms up and over his chest and then tug Sherlock's shirt over his head.

He _wanted_ to slide his hands inside Sherlock's pajama bottoms and wrap his hand around Sherlock's cock.

He _wanted_ to pull down Sherlock's pajamas until he was completely naked and then push Sherlock into his chair.

He _wanted_ to get down on his knees in front of Sherlock's chair and –

"Fuck it," John said and set all his notes aside.

He strode over to Sherlock who had just sat down in his chair with his own cup of tea. Sherlock was looking down at the paper in his hand when John stepped in front of him. Sherlock looked up with a scowl but John bent over and took the paper out of his hand and tossed it to the side. Then he got down on his knees in front of Sherlock's chair.

"John," Sherlock said, his voice all croaky like he was getting over a bad cold.

"Sherlock," John said in a conversational tone.

He snagged the waistband of Sherlock's pajama bottoms and tugged on them in a gesture that was universally acknowledged to mean _take them off_ and then looked at Sherlock expectantly. Sherlock was staring at him with wide eyes and for a moment neither of them moved. John tugged on the waistband again and Sherlock finally lifted his hips to allow John to pull his pajamas off.

Then he put one hand on the inside of both of Sherlock's thighs and pushed his legs apart.

"Oh," Sherlock said.

"Yes," John said and smiled.

John was very pleased to see that even this simple interaction was giving Sherlock an erection. John dragged his fingernails up Sherlock's legs, dipping between them a few times, making lazy patterns on Sherlock's thighs with his fingers.

He let his hands get close to Sherlock's cock but then stopped, lingering there enticingly.

"If you want this, Sherlock, then here's the deal. You _cannot_ get out of this chair until you come unless our lives are at stake and that includes ignoring Rosie if she starts crying. If she's in danger or hurt or sick, you'll know. It's time for you to stop giving in to her. Do we have a deal?"

To sweeten the deal, John bent his head between Sherlock's thighs and traced circles along the insides of Sherlock's thighs with his tongue before following up with his teeth, nibbling and nipping as he went, his mouth already watering at the thought of sucking Sherlock's cock.

He lifted his head. Sherlock's lips were parted slightly and he was breathing faster, his eyes having taken on the heavy-lidded look of someone who's arousal has taken over every other thought.

"Do we have a deal, Sherlock?"

"Uh," Sherlock said and squinted. "Huh?"

"You can't get out of this chair until you come unless our lives are in danger."

"Oh. Right. Deal," Sherlock said, staring at John's mouth.

John considered Sherlock's cock. It was smaller than John's but it was a lovely pink color, especially around the head. He was fully erect at that point and John stroked it loosely and gently, watching Sherlock's eyes which, for the first time since he had known him, weren't glittering with mania or brilliance or mischief. Sherlock was struck dumb with lust.

John knew that the challenge before him was keeping Sherlock in the moment; if he could keep Sherlock's eyes looking like that and his lips parted like that and his breath hitching in his chest like that, then there was a very good chance that John could break down _for good_ the barrier that Sherlock kept putting up between them. Sherlock loved to be in control but he did not like giving it up and letting someone take your penis in hand, or mouth as it were, required completely giving up control.

John wet his lips and then bent and slid his tongue from the base of Sherlock's penis all the way up to the head. He did it again. And then again. By the fourth time, Sherlock was panting. John made sure he had a good amount of saliva in his mouth and then he took Sherlock into his mouth all the way down to the base, loving the heavy feel of Sherlock's cock against his tongue and the way Sherlock jerked when the head of his penis hit the back of John's throat.

A litany of nonsense words dribbled out of Sherlock's mouth for a few seconds.

John pulled his lips back up the length of Sherlock's cock and then he looked up at Sherlock while the head of his cock was still in John's mouth. Sherlock met his eyes and then slowly lifted his hand and tangled it through John's hair, getting a grip and then used it to push John's head down.

John laughed around Sherlock's cock and then pushed back against Sherlock's hand so that he could free his mouth.

"I want you to grip my head with both hands and then you can set the pace," John said, feeling so devious and drunk with power.

Sherlock hesitated for a minute but John slipped his hand away from the base of Sherlock's penis and started to let both hands drop to his sides. When Sherlock saw that, he ploughed his fingers through John's hair and gripped _hard_. He was such a strong man, stronger than John which, John had to admit, was very sexy.

John put his wet lips around the head of Sherlock's penis and moaned along with Sherlock when he pushed John's head until John was deep-throating his cock and held him there for a second before pulling back up.

The rhythm Sherlock established was brutal. Every time he seemed on the verge of coming out of the fog of desire, John would grip the insides of his thighs or gently roll his testicles in his hands and then Sherlock would pick up the pace again.

It couldn't have been more than five minutes when John felt Sherlock gathering underneath him. Sherlock began thrusting his hips up in addition to pushing John's head down. John was hard as a rock. There was something raw and powerful going on between them. It was completely different than the sweet and exploratory oral sex Sherlock had given him almost two months ago. Then they had been flushed with fresh love, full of that feeling of having arrived where they had been heading.

But this was different. This was still love but it was the naked, wild part of love. Something with teeth and claws had broken out of their skins and now they were being driven by those wild things. Sherlock was saying words that John had never heard him say, not in ten years. He had heard Sherlock say _fuck_ , but not like this.

When Sherlock came, the sound hit John first, a sort of sobbing growl, like it hurt Sherlock to let it out. Sherlock cupped John's cheeks, a tender touch, as though he was saying _thank you_ and then the sound coming out of Sherlock hit its apex and then he came, his semen spurting into John's mouth who swallowed as quickly as he could, knowing that there would be more. He didn't like the taste of it but he didn't care. He would swallow for the rest of his life if it meant hearing the sounds that Sherlock was making and watching the way his body jerked and shuddered.

"John," Sherlock whispered, his voice so tender and sweet, and pulled John up with his hands under John's armpits and then Sherlock kissed him, his hands cradling John's cheek and John knew that the wild creatures inside them had retracted their claws and closed their vicious mouths and drunkenly swayed their way back to the dens where they usually lived inside Sherlock and John.

"John," Sherlock whispered, this time against John's cheek. "Semen tastes terrible."

John laughed and then gasped at the sound and feel of Sherlock's voice purring against him as he himself laughed.

"If you come to bed with me right now," John said, looking down at him. "I'll let you suck mine."

Sherlock's laughter rumbled out of him again and he wrapped his arms around John's waist and laid his head against John's stomach and whispered, "I want you desperately all the time and I could spend my whole life pleasing you and never get anything in return and still die a very happy and contented man. But I didn't know how to be pleased anymore. I'd lost the art of it, you see. All those years of punishing my libido for daring to poke its head out of the door. I was afraid that I would – it sounds so stupid saying it out loud. I was afraid I _couldn't,_ you see."

An ache was building deep in John's chest at the idea that Sherlock had been burying this fear for the last two months – no, longer than that. He would've been thinking this for ages now, thinking _well, there's no point now because I'm broken_.

"You thought you couldn't come and then I would, what, not love you anymore?"

"Do you know the last time I had an orgasm, John?"

"Two minutes ago?"

John could practically _hear_ Sherlock rolling his eyes.

"The last time I had an orgasm _before_ two minutes ago was about ten years ago and then I only did it because Mycroft said we should store some of our genetic material in a sperm bank _just in case_. I think he's planning to make a race of super babies."

"You have sperm stored in a sperm bank?"

"Yes."

"Is it still viable?"

"As far as I know," Sherlock said.

"So how was your first orgasm in ten years?"

In answer Sherlock pressed his face into John's stomach and growled and then he bit John through his t-shirt.

"Jesus, Sherlock!" John said, laughing. "That hurt!"

Sherlock stood up and wrapped an arm around John and pulled John against him. He kissed the top of John's head.

"Let's go to bed, shorty. I believe you offered your cock up for my enjoyment?"

"I don't know. I'm tempted now to see how many orgasms I can wring out of you in one night."

"Oh, don't – no, don't open that can of – bad apples or spilled beans or something or other. I'm afraid I'm all spent for the night."

"Hm," John murmured noncommittally and walked off towards the kitchen and up the back stairs to their room.

John turned the baby monitor volume down very low so that only the most pathetic of Rosie's cries would reach them. He shut their bedroom door and they undressed in silence, watching each other surreptitiously. They got into bed one right after the other and the minute they were both laying down they turned to each other with those same greedy hands and mouths that were now familiar to them after two months together.

Sherlock surprised John by pulling John on top of him and then worked John with his hand, swallowing his gasps and cries. When he came, he cried out Sherlock's name against Sherlock's lips.

They were exhausted, both of them, completely bare in every way that mattered and now they were sticky with semen, too. John made Sherlock fetch something to wipe them off with _because you're younger than me and have more energy_ , and Sherlock just snorted but complied.

Sherlock wiped them both down and threw the towel on the floor and then climbed back into bed with John. He kissed John's temple and fell asleep with John's head tucked under his chin.

When Rosie woke up crying, which she did three times that night, John kept Sherlock in bed with a steady hand on his chest and kept saying _she's fine, she'll go back to sleep, you might have to wait thirty minutes but she will go back to sleep_ and it did take thirty minutes but she did go back to sleep. The next time she cried, John did the same and she fell asleep even sooner. Again, the third time, his hand steady and warm on Sherlock's naked chest and Rosie's whimpers were brief before she faded almost instantly back to sleep.

When John started to take his hand off of Sherlock's chest, Sherlock grabbed it and brought it to his lips and kissed the knuckles and John said, "You are an incredibly sentimental man, did you know that?"

"Don't tell anyone," Sherlock murmured, tucking John against his side. "It'll ruin my reputation."

Finally, all three of the flat's inhabitants were deeply asleep, and the only noises to be heard were the night sounds of Baker street filtering in through the windows.

**Author's Note:**

> I always welcome emails from readers.
> 
> archiveofMYown@gmail.com


End file.
